


Ineffectual

by theundeadsiren (rhoen)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Body Image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/theundeadsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick really doesn't like what he sees in the mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ineffectual

**Author's Note:**

> For [faekieren](http://faekieren.tumblr.com), who wanted angst about Rick and his body image.
> 
> I don't think it fits the criteria that well, but I hope it's close enough. Thank you for requesting something <3
> 
> Un-beta'd

**You may not take this fic and edit or reupload it - in whole or in part - without my express permission. This includes translations.**

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Thank you for respecting my wishes

* * *

 

Rick stared at his reflection, taking in his own clean-shaven appearance and sighing as he ran his hand over his chin in a motion he’d done countless times before but had never quite understood. Nothing about this ritual felt good. He’d been doing it for over two years now, and it still felt like the same disappointing chore. He was just going through the motions, staring listlessly at his reflection as he scraped the blade over his skin, cutting away stubble that would reappear again in a few days time. What was the point?

It didn’t feel like there was a purpose to anything he did. He never had anything to show for it. Shaving didn’t make him feel any better, all that exercise didn’t make him seem any bulkier, and he goddamn hated the taste of lager despite the number of times he’d made himself drink it, promising himself it would be better next time. It felt like an endless cycle of… he didn’t know what. It seemed pointless, and as he stepped back, Rick turned to face the full length mirror on the back of the door, loosening the towel from round his waist and wiping the condensation from the glass despite knowing he was going to be despondent when he saw his full reflection. And he was right. Through the streaks, he saw an ineffectual, awkward teenage body, far too scrawny and laughably weak, with bland, unremarkable features that would never be regarded as being devastatingly handsome. He was plain. He was boring. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get himself to be the pinnacle of masculinity he should be.

Although he didn’t get why he had to be like that. Why did he have to be this thing he more often than not felt indifferent towards? He hated that he wanted to be like those men he saw in sporting and fitness magazines – tall and muscular, attractive and confident – and he hated how unattainable it was, his mood slipping when he thought at all the effort he put in only to get nothing back. Even something as simple as shaving didn’t make him feel good. It made him feel false, like he was just going through the motions in the hope that one day something would finally change and fall into place.

Why couldn’t what he was be enough?

Rick angled his body, trying to find the lines and definition he wanted to see, or at least something redeemable. His biceps were laughable, and his thighs nowhere near as strong as they should be. He poked at them, feeling the hard muscle that was never enough beneath his skin. And his abs… Rick’s hand ran over them, feeling the subtle contours and wishing for defined ridges. He was forever reaching out and falling short of what he should be.

Including here, he thought as his hand closed around his cock, gently squeezing the soft flesh and then pinching at the foreskin. Rick’s thoughts turned towards things that make his eyes sting with tears. Why couldn’t he be normal? Why couldn’t he understand and react to things that he was supposed to find beautiful and attractive? What had he done to deserve this? It was yet another part of him that was broken. Nothing fit. He was fragmented.

Rick stared miserably at himself, trying to find just one thing – just one, anything – that was worth seeing and maybe even being proud of.

He reached for his towel to hide himself.

There was nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is physically fit, handsome Rick, who is in his later teens (about seventeen or so) and is definitely NOT a weak, pathetic nothing as he thinks he is. But what you are and what you think you are often don't match up.


End file.
